


her first refrain

by herowndeliverance (atheilen)



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AU, Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Spoilers - Relationship - Freeform, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, in some of these anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:25:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 12,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7670005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheilen/pseuds/herowndeliverance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt fills for my various AUs and for canonverse. Everything here is both spoilery and subject to change, and exists mostly for purposes of archiving. Updated when I feel like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Various prompts originally posted on my Tumblr: [herowndeliverance](herowndeliverance.tumblr.com)
> 
> I will try to warn for spoilers for whatever AU is in each ficlet, but really you should consider everything here both spoilery and subject to change.
> 
> First up: Regina_Cordium asked for A. ham, on the edge of consciousness, and got Alexander Washington and his father George during the war, in [under their own vine and fig tree](http://archiveofourown.org/series/403045/).
> 
> Spoilers for the series to that point.

They worked late into the night, as they often did, after all the others of the family had gone to their repose. People talked often of how hard the General worked his staff, but what they failed to take into account was that he worked longer and harder than any of them, rising first and going to bed last, if at all. It irked Alexander, that they failed to see what was so obvious in his eyes.

There was nothing to do but join him. His father may have made up this position for him, as a sinecure to keep him on the sidelines, but Alexander would be damned if he would let himself be useless. So he assisted the General with matters of phrasing, took dictation, and drafted what he was trusted to write, which was most of it. His eyes burned with fatigue, and more than once he felt himself begin to slump over in his chair, and had to sit up hurriedly before something humiliating happened and he ended up on the General’s shoulder.

Thankfully, the General didn’t seem to notice Alexander’s lapse, continuing on with his dictation. The room swam in front of Alexander’s eyes, and he closed them for a moment, that was all…

There was a body warm against his, and Alex reached out blindly for his lady, or his John, he knew not which–being held in someone’s arms like this meant home, but which home?

“Shh, my boy, you get some rest.”

Ah. He knew that voice, but its owner had not held him like this in years, since he was a little boy. “Dad?” he said, blearily confused, into the uniform’s greatcoat. He must be dreaming. Or maybe, he thought, the entire war was a dream, and he was on the ship to Virginia with his father. That would be nice. There were some things he’d do over this time, if he had the chance….

“I’m here, dear heart.” Dimly, he was aware of a hand stroking his hair.

Definitely the ship, then. That was the only thing that made sense. There were things he had to tell Dad, this time, to make sure Dad knew, but the touch was so gentle and so rare, and surely it could wait a moment? Just a moment….


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for Alex and GWash, someone's greatest fear. Set in [an aegis very essential](http://archiveofourown.org/series/375677), and contains spoilers for the entire emotional arc of that series. If you care about such things, skip this one.

When he found out Alexander was his, George made a promise to himself. No one would hurt the boy because of him. He had already been hurt so much. George would not be the knife at his back.

That promise failed, as his honor often seemed to where Alex was concerned. First there was the war itself, of course, where George could not shield him from his enemies. He would remember Alexander on the dueling ground all the days of his life–Martha woke him from that nightmare more and more often now, as he screamed _no, Alex, don’t…_

Then after the war, the rumors followed him, the accusations that were, of course, completely true…George would give Alex the world, if he asked, but Hamilton never did. The taunts of Jefferson and others inflamed him with rage even more than they did Alex, for he alone knew how true they were.

So he held back. Did not presume to offer the boy familiarity, for fear it would be used as a weapon. Let the vultures do what they would to him. They would not–could not–have his boy. And if that meant George couldn’t have him either, so be it.

Alexander took the news of his resignation a lot worse than George thought he would. George had thought–hoped–the boy might be pleased. For so long had he been George’s faithful second, but now the way would be clear, and Alex could stand on his own. George had no doubt the boy could do it. _Is this not what you always wanted? What you worked for?_

The other reason–and oh, it was folly, he knew it was folly but he could not help but hope all the same–was that he wished, with them both out of office, to resume the sort of intimacy they had been slowly, tentatively building after the end of the war. For a few years they had been almost like a family, but that had ended abruptly, as so many of the good things in his life had, with the presidency.

But instead, Alexander threw himself into the farewell address with his usual single-minded intensity. George, as ever, found it a pleasure to watch, but there was a certain desolation in it too. _One last time_ , he’d said to his son, but now he found himself thinking, _is this the last time? The last time we will work in concert?_

“I will miss you, sir,” said Alex, near the end of one of these long sessions. George had learned to wait for these moments of candor, which tended to happen when Alex was at his most exhausted, hair half out of its queue and dark circles cavernous under his eyes.

_I’ll still be right here_ _if you need me_ , he wanted to say, but somehow what came out was an irritated, “We surely won’t be strangers, Alexander.”

Alexander ignored this for the banality it was. “Yet I confess to a certain amount of relief as well.”

George’s stomach sank. “Why is that?”

Alex shrugged, in a gesture of feigned nonchalance that had become endearingly familiar to George over the years. “It is only….I confess, sir, that I have always feared…that someone might use our connection to cause you harm. This is what I have most wished to prevent, more than anything. I would always be…someone that was of use in your life, sir. Not a burden that held you back, and now…now we don’t have to worry about that. Anymore. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I see.” George could barely get the words out. “You have never been a burden to me, Alexander.”

“Good,” said Alex. “That is–that’s good, sir.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Windmilltothestars asked for Lafayette and John Laurens, subtle kindnesses. Although this is intended to be canon, it could fit within either of my larger AUs with no trouble.

When dear Hamilton read Gilbert’s letters, he corrected the spelling. Out loud. In front of everyone.

"How else are you to learn, Major-General?" he would ask, with a grin, and Gilbert would find it hard to be angry anymore. Hamilton was right, after all. He must try harder to learn the language and customs of his new land.

And yet, it was…humiliating, when Hamilton would correct the same word he had corrected yesterday, and the day before that.

Dear Laurens saw, one day, how deeply he flushed, and then he always made an excuse to be there instead of Hamilton, finding some other errand for Hamilton to do, and whispering the corrections in Gilbert’s ear himself.

Gilbert found he improved, after that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for Eliza, a fistfight. This is canon-compliant.

Eliza knew she ought to scold. It was her duty as a mother. But in truth, all she wished to do was embrace her daughter, for Angelica’s tear-stained face called up feelings of sympathetic nostalgia she would do better to suppress.

She split the difference. “Now, dear, tell me what happened,” she said calmly.

“Th-theo Burr,” Angelica said. “She called Papa a dirty federalist, and then she pulled my hair, so I–” The girl stopped abruptly.

“And then what, Angelica?”

Angelica knew there was no gainsaying that tone. “And then, oh, I was so angry, Mama, that I punched her right in the face!”

Oh, dear. Eliza had to work to suppress a sigh. Like her namesake, Angelica adored music, but in all other ways she was much more like her mother, who had preferred climbing trees to the enticements of the drawing room and a good brawl to the poisoned fencing other girls indulged in. “Angelica–” But she couldn’t make herself say the rebuke that had come so easily to her own mother. “Did you aim true?”

Her daughter beamed at her. “Of course, Mama.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for Washington, tears. This is canon-compliant and features none of the Hamilcast besides Washington.

In one of their worst fights, Jack accused him of having no feeling. _Trying to be your son is like trying to please stone_ , he said, in a rare turn to the poetic. _I’d as well love a mountain, for all the good it does me._

Martha told him not to mind. _You’ve always done your duty by him,_ she said. _He knows you love him, even if you are not always demonstrative with it._

_What do you mean by that?_ he asked, irritated. _How shall I demonstrate my feeling?_

_Oh, George,_ she replied, not seeming to understand that it was a genuine question.

She joked that she would have to weep enough for both of them, but when Patsy died, it was he who shed tears. Martha stared straight ahead, dead silent, ashen. She wouldn’t eat or sleep or move. Eventually George composed himself enough to take care of her, because it was what he had always done.

When Jack died, he didn’t weep. He wanted to–he knew Jack would have wanted him to, and so he tried to give this one last thing to the boy who had never wanted or needed anything of his. But he could not make himself do it.

_What sort of man are you,_ he asked himself, disgusted, _that you are unable to weep for your own son?_ For Jack was his son, he’d never had any doubt of that. He’d simply never known how to make Jack know it too.

The boys, his brilliant aides, surrounded Martha when they found out. Always solicitous to her, now they were protective. Even in the midst of their victory celebrations they found time for tender words for her, which gladdened George’s heart a little. He had given her no sons, but the boys seemed determined to give themselves to her, and for that George was grateful.

No one spoke a word of condolence to him. He was beginning to understand that no one ever would. They seemed not to see him as human, as mortal, anymore, if indeed they ever had.

_I am as stone_ , he thought. He wondered if they would carve him into a mountain one day. Jacky would laugh at that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shapechangersinwinter asked for Burr and Theo Sr., a moment of respite. I set this in [the time travel AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7588243/), because I enjoy pain.

After the funeral was over, and the mourners had departed, he and Theo had little to say to each other. This perhaps frightened Aaron more than any other aspect of life without Theodosia; he was all Theo had left now, and it would be so easy to fail her.

He wanted to be gone. He wanted nothing of this terrible, Theodosia-less world.

He wanted to be gone and so he was, all of a sudden he was standing outside the door of her sitting room, and she was there, smiling and whole and healthy, and Aaron knew he should leave and nothing good could come of this, but then she smiled at him, and he could never resist her smile.

“Well, hello there,” she said. “I thought you’d be at the office all day. Didn’t you say not to expect you?”

For the life of him, Aaron couldn’t remember what case was supposed to have stolen him from her. “Oh, it…none of it was really important,” he said.

“That’s not what it sounded like this morning when you couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

“Oh, God, Theodosia, I’m sorry, I…I should have been a better husband to you, more attentive, more…” More everything.

“Hey, none of that," she said. “You, sir, are the best husband I’ve ever had.”

“Faint praise, madam, unless I miss my guess.”

“Never mind that,” she said. “We have today, do we not? Come be attentive to me now.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaproos left me this prompt for [under their own vine and fig tree](http://archiveofourown.org/series/403045/): Okay, here's something you allude to but haven't really tackled head-on yet that we know of: Alexander has plenty to say about almost everything except what George really wants to know. gwenlygrace prompted "James Hamilton complicates things," for same. This is the result. Set very early in the series, so contains few spoilers beyond what is already up.

“Sir, there is something I must discuss with you,” Alexander said gravely, sounding very much like the business partner he was determined to conduct himself as.

George was equally determined to respect that. “Of course, Alexander.”

“I realize that I am bound, sir, by honor and frankly also by inclination, to stay with you for a time. I do not regret making that choice. It is only…” He paused, clearly as uncomfortable as George had ever seen him.

“If there is anything at all I can do to ease your mind, Alexander…”

“Sir, when my real father comes to get me, how is he going to find us?”

George knew he had no right to be upset by that question. None whatsoever, considering that he himself had abandoned Alexander to the man, even unknowing. It was only natural that Alexander would consider Hamilton his real father. Even if the other man had left, which would never make sense to George, not as long as he lived. George had only known the boy for a few weeks, and already the idea of ever leaving him was unthinkable. How could Hamilton have raised the boy for a decade and willingly walked away?

“He always said he would send for us, you see, after things blew over. I must confess I do not know what has caused his delay, but it’s sure to be over soon, and it would be ridiculous to expect him to travel all the way to Virginia, that would be too burdensome a journey, and I just…” The words came out in a nervous rush, but stopped abruptly when the boy saw George’s face.

George hurriedly made an effort to rid his face of expression, as whatever his countenance had betrayed was clearly horrifying to the boy. _He will never come for you,_ George thought. He was as certain of that as he was that Alexander was his child, not Hamilton’s.

And if Hamilton did…well. George was, at his core, a selfish man. He would not pay for the man’s passage the way he’d offered to do for Alexander’s brother, would not cede his child graciously. Let Hamilton fight for Alexander if he wished; he would not win.

George, on the other hand, was quite willing and able to play a long game here. Eventually, Alexander would get tired of waiting for a man who would never come. And in the meantime, it was George who would get to raise him, George who would be there every day.

But in order to be allowed to do that, he could not antagonize Alexander unduly, nor get in pointless arguments that would only damage the boy’s fragile trust. “You may write to Mr. Hamilton when we get home, should you wish it; and correspond with him as often as you like thereafter,” George said calmly. “He will be glad to know you are safe, I’m sure.” And if Hamilton gave the boy any unpleasantness on that score, George would have no compunctions about ending that correspondence, but there was no need for Alexander to know that now.

“Yes, sir,” said Alexander, not sounding happy about it but seemingly aware that he would get no further concessions.

George knew he should leave well enough alone. But he could not help asking. “Alex…was he…was he kind to you? Hamilton, I mean.”

“He was the best!” Alex said, fierce, responding to an accusation George had not made. “The best dad anyone could ever have, how dare you insinuate otherwise…”

George hadn’t. “I’m sorry, Alexander. I see.” And he thought he did. _You had better pray we never meet again, Hamilton, I will not be so kind to you as I was last time…._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwenlygrace prompted 'first crush,' for [under their own vine and fig tree](http://archiveofourown.org/series/403045/). Set during Alexander's early adolescence, so spoilers up to that point.

“…and the grounds, Colonel, you should tell them about the grounds. Really, we should perhaps use some of the same innovations here, it would suit the place, don’t you think?”

It was all Patsy could do not to scream. Alex had been going on about nothing but Jefferson this, Jefferson that, for three days, ever since he and Papa had returned from the man’s estate of Monticello, and she was tired of it. But she saw the way Papa’s eyes lit up when Alexander said _we_ , which meant he would turn Mount Vernon into Monticello in miniature, if it meant Alex had the slightest chance of being happier here. If it meant he would stay.

“Mr. Jefferson’s grounds are, hmm, most original, it’s true,” Papa conceded, in the noncommittal voice that meant he hated everything about them.

“You should really meet him, Patsy,” Alex enthused. “He said I can come back whenever I want for a visit. We should all go! I just know you would hold each other in the highest of esteem, as such virtuous souls as you both have must.”

“I do not know if Patsy’s health would permit such a visit, dear,” Mama said. It was the first time Patsy had ever been grateful for such an interjection, and she knew Mama could read it in her face.

“And the house, you would love the house,” Alex rattled on, oblivious.

“Didn’t you say his bed was in the hallway?” Jacky interjected.

“Right! It’s so he can get right to work in his study immediately upon rising. I approve of such industriousness in a man, don’t you, Colonel?”

“A bed. In the hallway. It’s unnatural,” said Jacky.

“Really Mr. Jefferson is my ideal of a man,” Alex nattered. “Had I known this country could produce such gentlemen, I’d have come over a lot sooner. Such a great intellect, combined with such probity, is something we can see but rarely. And he’s so distinguished. He had this coat in a very becoming purple, which I think I shall have to emulate when I have my next one mode. Sir, when are we ordering clothes again? Is it soon?”

Papa’s face was a very particular sort of expressionless mask which usually meant he was contemplating stabbing himself with the carving knife.

“I like you in green,” Patsy said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for Alexander's purple jacket goes to my dearest, scioscribe.
> 
> Also, I am aware that TJ probably hadn't yet made all the modifications to Monticello Jacky mentions here, but I couldn't resist including them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [under their own vine and fig tree](http://archiveofourown.org/series/403045). Gwenlygrace prompted: ‘You really need to learn how to ride a horse.’ “I know how to ride!” “No, really.” and shapechangersinwinter prompted early Alex and Jacky interaction. Set in Alex's early adolescence and contains spoilers for the series to that point.

“You think too much,” Jack explained.

“Not a problem you would ever have, Custis, I assume.”

This was really starting to get tiresome, and Jack had had enough. There was ‘making Alexander feel welcome,’ which he’d been enjoined to do by his mother in the voice she rarely used, the one that Meant Business. Then there was allowing himself to be run roughshod over by a little runt of a boy with no name or land to speak of but what Jack’s stepfather could give him, which wasn’t much. This boy may be his stepfather’s chosen heir, though for the life of him Jack couldn’t figure out why. But that didn’t mean he could speak so to a Custis.

“I’m trying to help you, Washington, stop making such an ass of yourself.”

“That’s not my name, and I don’t need your help.”

This was going to be a long afternoon. Jack sighed. “Right, so, we’ll just go out riding tomorrow, and then when the horse throws you because you scare her and you land flat on your ass in front of my sister and all the ladies of the neighborhood, that will be just fine with you?”

“Shut up,” Washington muttered.

“That’s what I thought. So listen to me when I say: you think too much. The horse can feel it in your seat and it frightens her. You need to stop thinking.”

“How on earth do you stop thinking?”

Jack stared at him. Washington stared back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shapechangersinwinter prompted early Alex and Patsy interaction, in [under their own vine and fig tree.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/403045/) Set in Alex's early adolescence; contains spoilers for the series to that point.

“I don’t want to,” Alexander said. “Horrible beasts, the lot of them.”

“The hounds? Oh no, come on, they’re just silly babies.” And before Alexander could object, she was off toward the barn.

Alexander Hamilton was no coward, and he was not afraid of a bunch of stupid dogs. Not at all. What could he do but follow after her? It was dangerous for her to wander the grounds alone, Mrs. Washington had said. Something might happen.

So he chased Patsy, and soon enough a howling chorus of the animals rose to greet them.

“You should stay back, Miss Custis,” he pointed out. “They might hurt you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, and then–ugh–one of the creatures jumped on him.

“That’s Drunkard,” she said. “He’s just excited to meet a new person. Here, hold out your hand for him to sniff.”

“The dog’s name is what?”

“Drunkard,” explained Patsy, as if there were nothing odd about this at all.

He was never going to understand these people. Or their dogs.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azulaludgate prompted something with Alex and Patsy in [under their own vine and fig tree.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/403045) Set in Alex's mid-adolescence, around 1771 or 1772. Contains spoilers.

“I don’t think I shall go to dancing lessons today,” Patsy said, attempting to sound nonchalant but really hovering somewhere around petulant.

“Why not?” Alex asked. “You love dancing lessons! They’re mostly for you anyway, Jack hates them and I’m terrible.”

Yes, they were for Patsy. Everything was for Patsy; all the doctor’s visits and treatment at the waters and special treats to cheer her up. Her family would do absolutely anything for Patsy. It made her want to vomit. “I just don’t feel like it.”

“Are you not feeling well?” Alex asked, his brow furrowing in immediate concern. It was not the way she wanted Alex to look at her. Not at all.

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

“Okay,” said Alex, “it’s just that I was really hoping you could be there, it’s no fun mocking Jack without you.”

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t handle me, not you, Alex, I can’t bear it…”

“Hey,” he said, “hey, what’s wrong?” He put his arm around her shoulder, held her close. In the way a brother would do for a sister, of course. Her pulse did not race, her breathing did not come faster, when she felt his touch, because that would be ridiculous and impossible.

“I just don’t see the point,” she said, “when no one will ever want to dance with me for real.” That afternoon’s whispered comment from her maid about how poor Miss Custis would never have a suitor had been more than enough.

“I want to dance with you,” Alex pointed out, gallant as ever.

“No, you know. A boy. A boy who wants to _dance_ with me, not ‘give me exercise’ as if I were a horse too lame to be ridden…” 

For some reason, Alex flushed deeply at that. “I don’t think that. I want to _dance_ with you, Patsy.”

“You’re sweet, Alexander, but it’s not the same. Besides, I’ll never have a ball in any case. What if I should have a fit during the dance? I’d die.”

“What if you did, _Martha_?” he asked, an edge to his voice she had never quite heard there before. “Would that be the end of everything?”

“You’ve seen them, haven’t you,” she pointed out. “They are not exactly the most graceful things.”

“You’d be the talk of all Virginia,” Alex conceded. “But that…that may be survivable. Virginia would get bored with you sooner than you think, really.”

And Patsy flushed with shame, for of course she should have remembered that, should have remembered that he too had been the object of ridicule. “Alex, I’m sorry…”

“What for?” he asked, seeming genuinely puzzled. “I really do want to dance with you, if you’ll have me. At every ball you go to, you’ll have at least one partner who would be honored.”

“You can’t just go with me to every dance there is,” she laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But why would I ever go to one without you?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two and a half pirates!
> 
> Okay, so this verse is going to need a bit of an explanation for those of you who don't follow me on Tumblr. One day someone went into my askbox and asked whether Alexander and George Washington were ever going to make it to land in [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5944084/chapters/13666873/). I joked that no, their ship would be boarded by pirates, and then things got a little out of control as I took the fraught relationship between George Washington and Benedict Arnold presented in that story and, um. Ran with it. If you would like to follow this nonsense on Tumblr, it's [here](http://herowndeliverance.tumblr.com/tagged/the-two-and-a-half-pirates-au-no-one-asked-for).
> 
> Please do not take this too seriously, folks.
> 
> Anyway, here's a heartwarming family moment between our heroes, as shapechangersinwinter prompted: I remember you wondered once if Alex would take Arnold's last name in this 'verse - can we see Wash's reaction to learning this has happened?

“No,” Washington said. “It is not your name.”

“Technically,” Alex retorted, “Washington isn’t, either.”

Benedict smirked. He hadn’t been sure about this plan, but he would have had a lot fewer misgivings if he’d realized just how pissed Wash was going to get. “Come on, George, you know it makes more sense.” Which was the sole reason Benedict had agreed to this in the first place, of course. Not because he looked upon Alex as a son of any kind. The very thought was ridiculous.

“No,” said Washington. “It does not make sense, because he is not your son.”

Benedict knew how this would go. First Alex would jump in about how he probably wasn’t Wash’s son either, then Wash would throw a tantrum that he would pretend was somehow dignified, then both of them would whine to Benedict about how difficult the other one was being.

So Benedict tried another tack. “George Washington is dead,” he said, flat.

Washington took a full step backwards, his eyes widening, and Benedict knew he had scored a hit. “I’m sorry, what?”

“In the eyes of the world, George, you’re a dead man. You drowned when our ship was lost, that first time. Your wife would have had a funeral, done her mourning. Dead men don’t have sons. Leave it be.”

“We are going to go home,” Washington said, the way he’d said it a thousand times. “My son and I.” And there would be no place for Benedict there; he’d made that clear as well.

_If he goes home,_ Alex had asked him once, _can I stay with you?_

_‘Course, kid_ , Benedict had said, like it was nothing, a trifle.

He didn’t tell George any of that. What cruelty there was in him did not extend that far. Let the man have his mirages, if they let him sleep at night. He still slept next to Benedict, after all. “Sure, George,” he said instead.

And then, because he couldn’t leave it alone: “You know, I could adopt you, too.”

“What did you say?”

“As my very own dear son,” he smirked. “Wouldn’t you like that? We could all be one big happy fucking family…”

Alex burst out laughing so hard he almost fell over. “Oh…oh, your _face,_ sir.”

“Arnold, shut the fuck up before I punch you in the damn jaw.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More [pirateverse!](http://herowndeliverance.tumblr.com/tagged/the-two-and-a-half-pirates-au-no-one-asked-for/)
> 
> Philly-osopher prompted: Please tell me who has the parrot on their shoulder and what the parrot says.

They have a parrot. In a manner of speaking.

Alexander HATES the nickname, it’s demeaning and awful and doesn’t even make SENSE, a parrot only mimics, whereas he–he interprets Captain’s orders, that’s all. Explains them so that everyone understands them more clearly. He. Is. Being. Helpful. As for the charge that he perches on Captain’s shoulder, well. It’s easier to maintain a lookout from up there, isn’t it.

Ben tries to tell him once that maybe if he stopped wearing all those bright green clothes, the crew might not see so much of a resemblance. Alexander sulks for three days. Captain thinks it’s hilarious, which mean he half-smiles and ruffles Alexander’s hair.

Alexander refuses to acknowledge being called ‘little parrot.’ He is neither little nor a parrot.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet more [pirateverse!](http://herowndeliverance.tumblr.com/tagged/the-two-and-a-half-pirates-au-no-one-asked-for/) SOMEONE, who will not be named in order to protect the guilty, prompted Washington and Arnold's first kiss, and with this I go to hell and inaugurate a ship tag for my dreadful awful ship that was supposed to be a joke. Anyway.

It’s an accident. George doesn’t mean to do it, which he finds most frustrating about the whole thing, He is always deliberate, when going after things he wants.

Not that he wants Arnold’s mouth, you understand. He hasn’t thought about it at all, about what it would be like to take that smirk from the man’s face, about how to make it yield to him, about how raw it will look when George is done taking his plunder. He hasn’t thought about it while watching Arnold at his work. He hasn’t thought about it when watching Arnold’s pacing around the ship like a restless animal and wondering what it would take to make him stop. He definitely hasn’t thought about it when Arnold shows one of his periodic kindnesses to Alexander, and his mouth goes soft and wistful.

(That night he doesn’t think about it in his bunk, into his handkerchief. The sea changes a man, is all. It’s only natural that a man would have…certain urges…when missing his wife.)

But the next day Arnold is on him again, calling him an ass and a hypocrite, and wondering when George will just admit to what he is and take what he wants, and George wants nothing from Arnold but for him to shut up, and so George does it, George makes him.

And Arnold smiles. “Been waiting for that,” he says.

He’s insufferable. Good thing George doesn’t want him and this is never happening again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God help and forgive me, more [pirateverse!](http://herowndeliverance.tumblr.com/tagged/the-two-and-a-half-pirates-au-no-one-asked-for/) Azulaludgate asked for Lams inopportune flirting.

_Oh shit,_ John thinks, _he’s hot._

That was not, perhaps, a normal thing to think about the man currently holding a dagger to his throat, but fuck it. John wasn’t coming back to America to be normal. He’d wanted danger, an adventure, and it looked like he was about to get it.

And the pirate is, in John’s defense, really hot. Not at all like the imagined pirates of his childhood, bedraggled and unkempt criminals. No, this pirate is small, with something of the delicacy of a woman about his features. Combined with the undeniable strength of his body as he pins John, it…well. It stirs things in him.

“We have nothing you want,” he breathes, and terror is not the only reason it comes faster.

The pirate, damn him, notices. His cat’s grin widens. “Oh, but I think you do, sweetheart. I really think you do.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet more [pirateverse!](http://herowndeliverance.tumblr.com/tagged/the-two-and-a-half-pirates-au-no-one-asked-for/) This follows directly from the previous vignette: Anon asked: please tell me Hamilton "kidnaps" Laurens.

John couldn’t remember ever having this much fun before, which he supposed said a lot about both him and his previous life, none of it particularly good. But the pirate–Alex–was a gracious host, and attentive.

_Very attentive,_ John thought as the man left a trail of kisses along his jawline.

_This is wrong_ , he thought. _I shouldn’t want this, I don’t want this, this man is evil and a man besides, I don’t…_

But he did, and the pirate knew it. Knew it and wanted him right back, it seemed, which thrilled John. Never before had a lover looked at him and not found him wanting. Alex looked at John like John was…rare treasure, which would have discomfited John if he didn’t enjoy it so much.

“I wish that I could keep you, sweetheart,” Alex murmured, as though in response to John’s thought.

There was a part of John–a very small part–that wouldn’t mind being kept. _Yes_ , he wanted to say, _let’s go and sink all the slave ships together, let us end this great evil_ (for Alex, he’d discovered, had a particular animus for slavers and would go out of his way to ruin them.)

But John had a higher calling, a nobler death awaiting him still.

_A wife_ , he reminded himself, forcefully. _A daughter._

“But my dad would kill me,” Alex said, and John was hard-pressed not to laugh. Alex had mentioned his difficult father a time or two, in the days they’d spent together. It was odd to think of a pirate as a man like him, with a demanding father who had high expectations of him.

“You’ll have to make a daring escape, I suppose,” Alex mused.

“I’ll punch you in the jaw, how’s that?” John asked.

“Oooh, hot,” Alex grinned. “Ben will mock, but I’ve lived through worse.”

_Who’s Ben?_ John wondered, an immediate flare of jealousy rising in him. For Alex had done this before, and with many men; that much was clear from the way he worked John’s body.

Perhaps it was that jealousy that made him speak. “I’ve a better idea, actually. Come with me.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We now return you to your regularly scheduled [Fig tree!](http://archiveofourown.org/series/403045/) Farragoofwires asked for Hercules Mulligan. Set in wartime, with spoilers to that point.

“I’m an orphan! God, I wish there was a war, then we could prove that we’re worth more than anyone bargained for!”

Hercules has been watching Hamilton and Burr this whole time, like he does, and the thing is, the kid says it too fast. His eyes slide from Burr’s as he talks, with something like shame.

Hercules knows a bit of what it is to feel ashamed of the people who love you, to wish you could be more, so he doesn’t blame the kid for it, not right away. But there’s something weird about his accent, something Southern in his drawl, and surely those Southern boys must know there’s a war on? One of their own is the commander, after all, as Laurens never fails to remind him; does not Hamilton wish to follow General Washington to war?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More [Fig tree](http://archiveofourown.org/series/403045/), set soon after the previous chapter and dealing with the consequences of it. Set in wartime. Spoilers to that point. Ljblueteak asked for: Fig Tree Verse Washington finding out that the brave young man who stole the British cannon is his son, who btw dropped out of King's College without Washington's knowledge? 
> 
> Here is one possible perspective on that moment.

Nathanael felt the trust his general placed in him keenly, all the more so now that things were going to shit. He believed in the Patriot cause, of course, but more than that, there was something about His Excellency that made Nathanael want to give him everything, that he could do the impossible.

Today it seemed that Washington himself did not share that belief, and it scared Nathanael more than a dressing-down ever could have.

“It is too much,” said Washington. “I fear I am not…but never mind, Greene, there’s no reason for you to share this burden.”

“No man alone would be equal to such tasks as you face, sir,” Nathanael said. “You need help. Assistance.”

“I have a third of what Congress has promised, Greene. A third. And half their enlistments end with the new year. And I–I am chained to this desk with correspondence. I am in desperate need of men who can _think_ for me, and I am not sure there is one such in all the Continental Army.”

“What about Captain Hamilton?” A more impressive young officer Nathanael had never met, and his mind could keep up with the general’s, and even outpace it.

“Who?”

“Oh, you know, the one who had that damn fool plan with Mulligan to purloin the British cannons.” Nathanael grinned remembering it–that had been a sight to see. “You wouldn’t think he’d make a staff officer, but apparently he’s also some kind of prodigy–”

“Wait.” The general held up a hand. His eyes narrowed. “Hamilton. You can’t mean _Alexander_ Hamilton?”

“Right, sir, that’s the one. Wouldn’t take a job with me, but if you don’t mind my saying so, sir, he really does need to be on someone’s staff before he gets himself killed, which would be a d–which would be a shame, Too brilliant and reckless by half.”

Washington breathed out through his nostrils. Closed his eyes. “Yes. Yes, he would be.”

“You know him, sir?”

“We were acquainted briefly, when he was a child,” Washington explained smoothly, recovering himself. “It seems he’s not one anymore. Dismissed, Greene.”

Nathanael could not help but be relieved to be sent from the room. Until–

“Nathanael. Could you–will you tell me about Alex and…about Captain Hamilton, beg pardon. And the cannons. I would very much like to know.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for Eliza in [Aegisverse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/375677/). Set in wartime. Contains spoilers for the series to that point.

Eliza knew her father was not, to put it mildly, overjoyed about her Alexander’s lack of prospects. Nor his illegitimacy, which he had confessed to them shamefacedly, with the air of a man culpable, not the victim of his father’s selfishness she knew him to be.

But she knew her Alexander would win the day. He had to. There was nothing that his mind couldn’t do–if he could be the right hand of such a man as George Washington, surely he could win over such a man as Philip Schuyler the way he’d conquered all the Schuyler ladies.

She tried so hard to keep her fears to herself, leaving Angelica as her only confidante, the way she’d been so often before. But one day the anxiety became simply too much, and she found herself confessing all to Lady Washington, who had been so kind, and treated her as a daughter from the first.

Lady Washington, far from dismissing her concerns the way Angelica had done, eyed her with a speculative air. Eliza almost felt uncomfortable under her gaze. She would say Lady Washington was weighing her, judging her, except she knew the older woman was far too gracious for any such thing.

“Would you say, my dear, that it is a matter of pedigree that is the stumbling block for General Schuyler? Or of connection? By which I mean–is is the fact of Colonel Hamilton’s illegitimacy to which your father objects? Or merely that it means he has no family, no one in the world who is bound to help him, and therefore you, should things go wrong?”

Eliza thought about it. “The–second, I should think, madam, with a little of the first.” It embarrassed her to admit to even that much, but her father had always cared for the dignity of rank.

Lady Washington nodded. “I thought as much. Ah, well, that much may be solved, my dear.”

“But how?” Eliza wailed.

“Be patient,” Lady Washington smiled, “and trust me.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Littlelionphocion asked for Alex and Martha interacting, and I chose to set it in [Aegisverse.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/375677/) Contains spoilers to the end of the war.

She found him throwing pebbles into the stream, absently, not even trying to make them skip. “Lady Washington,” he said hastily, making as if to rise, “forgive me, I did not expect…”

“Surely we are friends enough now that you needn’t stand on ceremony with me, Alex. I merely wanted company is all.”

She was gratified to see him relax, sinking bonelessly back to the ground. “Company I can provide, madam, though I fear not the best. I am…melancholy of late.”

Martha nodded. “That I can understand. What occupies your thoughts today, dear Colonel?”

She could tell he was as shocked as she was, when he said, “My mother.”

“Ah.” Martha was woman enough to admit that Rachel Faucette had never been far from her own thoughts, ever since she learned about her husband’s lost love.

“I just…keep wondering, you know? What she would think of, of all this.”

“Me too,” said Martha ruefully. “Alex, I…can you tell me about her? What she was like?” She knew it for a trespass the second she said it, but Alexander, oddly, didn’t seem to take it as one.

“Do you know, madam, I think she would have liked you very much.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompted: Literally anything about the picnic Alexander had with Lafayette and Washington next to a pretty waterfall where they could momentarily "forget the scenes of war" or something would make me super-happy! Thanks! :) 
> 
> I was only too happy to oblige. I said at the time that this could be set in [Aegisverse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/375677/) or canon, but I have since changed my mind; it's definitely Aegis, set somewhere in the middle of [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5492954/chapters/12690137/). Spoilers to that point.

If anyone asked, Alexander had nothing to do with it and it was a coincidence. But in his perambulations through camp, he had come upon the waterfall, and he’d thought of how much Lafayette would love to see it.

And if what was shown to Lafayette perforce was pointed out to the General, well. Alexander could have foreseen that consequence. Not, of course, that it had been his aim in any way. His job was to aid the general in his work, not scout out spots where he might partake of rest.

But he could not say he was displeased with the outcome, for all that.

What Alexander failed to anticipate was the General’s genial invitation, “Do join us, my dear Hamilton. I made sure there was enough in the basket for three, and you need a break.”

“Oh,” said Alexander. “No, I couldn’t, I just thought…”

“I insist,” the General said, and Hamilton bristled–it was not for his commander to dictate the terms of his leisure the way he did every other aspect of his life. But Lafayette, astonishingly, put his hand on the General’s shoulder.

“It would please me very much, dear friend, were you to sit with us awhile,“

Alexander was rarely able to refuse Lafayette anything. It was a problem.

The glance exchanged between the General and Lafayette was the smug one of two victorious co-conspirators. Alexander decided it was the better part of valor to let them have it.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multsicorn asked for Angelica/Jefferson. I came up with a Beauty and the Beast AU.

It was said that the lost Prince of Monticello had been handsome once, and learned, and the sort of man that any woman should dream of marrying. But his selfishness was his undoing, and he visited such cruelty upon his bound vassals that the very heavens revolted, and cursed him to show the world the visage that reflected his true, monstrous nature. Ever since then, men feared to pass through the gates of Monticello, for fear they too would be lost to the prince’s endless appetites.

Angelica Schuyler was no man, and she, to put it in the common idiom, gave no fucks. Not when the bastard had her sister.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for anything with Angelica/Madison.

She didn’t like quiet men, as a rule. Too often hidden depths were really just hidden petulance. Give her an obnoxious loudmouth any day. At least you could fight them.

But Jemmy was different. Angelica knew smart men, driven men. In a gathering of such men, Jemmy might say one thing to Thomas’s ten, but his contribution would be the one of most worth.

Angelica appreciated the value of such a man. She too knew how to make her words count–when words were all you had there was no other choice.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for Hamilton and Madison friendship.

“Take your medicine, Jemmy.”

Often, James wondered whether Hamilton’s solicitude was genuine, or whether it came about because the other man was secretly delighted to have someone sicker than himself to fuss over. “I’m fine, Hamilton, really.”

But Alexander Hamilton, as ever, was not to be deterred. “That cough has been troubling you all afternoon. I like the sound of it not at all.”

“It’s no worse than usual, Ham.”

“All the more reason then,” said Hamilton, the stubborn ass. “You rest, and I can finish your essay if you need me to.”

“It’s nearly done,” said James.

Hamilton paid him no mind “…and I will send word to my Betsey to expect one more at supper. Really, James, it’s not good you’re so much alone.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for one of the Washingtons finding out about Lams. Canonverse.

“Whatever is the matter, George, dear?”

George looked stunned, and not in a good way. In a ‘deafened and paralyzed by artillery fire’ way. “I…I just–”

Martha, for a terrible moment, feared the worst. “Good god, George, what happened?”

“Hamilton and Laurens–they…”

“No,” Martha breathed, “no, say nothing has happened to them, they were writing correspondence all day…”

“Oh, no, Martha, darling, it’s nothing like that!” George hastened to assure her. “It’s just–I came upon them…”

Martha laughed. All was clear now. “Making love?”

George gaped at her.

“Well, such things are bound to happen, you know. You mean to say you did know they were lovers?”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of backstory for [the Sleepy Hollow crossover AU](http://archiveofourown.org/series/378427/), for regina-cordium. Featuring my OC couple's first meeting.

“Dibs on the cute one with the hoop earrings,” Emily said.

Alicia swatted her with the side of her banner. “You’re working! You’re supposed to be impartial, not perving on your interview subjects.”

“And you’re supposed to be protesting the defunding of safer spaces on campus. I noticed you noticing, and I call dibs. For an interview. I can’t interview you, obviously.”

“ _Oh_ , for an _interview_. I _see_.”

“Aliciaaaaaaaaa. I’m on deadline, and Hoop Earrings girl looks smart. It’s something about the eyes. I can just tell.”

Alicia bit her lip. “Okay, hold on.” And just like that she was off, across the quad to where the girl with the pretty eyes– _earrings, Sabio, you’re allowed to notice earrings–_ stood, glaring about something.

Emily watched her. _What’s she gonna do?_ Alicia grabbed the girl by the arm, and all of a sudden it was like watching the sun come out. Shit.

Right. She was taking in the scene. Adding color. Her notepad hid her face, right? She could stare..

Shit. They were coming this way.

“By all means,” Cute Girl was saying, “lead the way.”

“Emily Sabio,” she blurted out, half a yell. Then she spazzed and dropped her notepad, because of fucking course she did.

“Sabio?” asked Cute Girl. Oh shit, even her voice was hot.

“My sister,” Alicia said. Emily could feel the eyeroll,

“Thank you for, um, coming out today and raising awareness for this important issue…”

Cute Girl bent down and retrieved Emily’s notepad. “Well, if outing myself means I get to meet you, it’s worth it.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Philly-osopher asked for a modern take on [under their own vine and fig tree](http://archiveofourown.org/series/403045/), featuring James Hamilton.

Jim had to admit, he felt kind of shitty about the whole thing. Sure, he’d always kind of known the kid wasn’t his, and sure, he’d been an ass about it. What man wouldn’t be? But Alex was a good kid, or tried to be, and he didn’t deserve the storm that was about to land on him.

“I think it’s sweet,” said the woman next to him. “Don’t you? Like something out of a fairy tale.”

Jim grunted, drained his beer, signalled the waitress–cute little thing, like Rach had been when they first met–for another. “Yeah, and you can bet the good Senator’s spin doctors will keep trying to make you believe it.” Washington was doing his best–he always had, the stubborn ass–but Jim could see the strain around his eyes, the anger at having to pander to CNN. He’d always thought he was too good for Rachel. Jim, at least, never held any illusions on that score.

_Bitch played us both, Georgie_ , he thought, half-admiring. _And you can’t handle that, can you? You thought you were so smart…_

He almost felt sorry for the poor bastard. Whatever else he was, the kid was Rachel’s son through and through, and Washington stood no chance.

The subpoena burned a hole in his pocket, and Jim drank deep to distract himself from its weight. If he were lucky, he’d still be drunk when he showed up at court tomorrow. The thought of seeing Washington and the kid at once was too much to stomach sober.

“Do you think Washington’s really the father, though?” asked the woman.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Jim. “Like you said. It’s a good story.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cattlaydee said I was hurting her with too many feels in Fig tree, so I decided to do it some more. Set during [this story.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5944084/chapters/13666873/)

“It would make more sense,” Alexander pointed out, “if we removed matters of sentiment from the equation. Surely, sir, whether we are linked by blood or no, it would be best for your reputation if–”

“You will be my legal heir,” Washington said, in a tone of such utter finality Alexander was almost frightened, “and you will bear my name. My reputation will fall where it will.”

I don’t want your name, thought Alexander. I don’t want your titles. I don’t want your land. I don’t want anything of yours. But somehow he couldn’t make himself say it, and what burst from his mouth instead was “What will your wife say to that, sir?”

“Martha will love you as I do,” said the colonel, still firm, as though he could imagine no other outcome.

But, Alexander realized, that still wasn’t an answer. “I don’t understand, sir.”

“I would have you safe, Alexander,” the colonel said gently–far more gently than Alexander felt he deserved. “My name will make you safe, to a certain degree. Less, perhaps, than if I had–but what’s done is done.”

“But sir,” said Alexander, “what if I’m not–”

“As I said,“ Colonel Washington interrupted, “you will be my legal heir, and then it will not matter.”

“But why, sir?” Alexander knew he was whining, and he hated the sound.

“One day, my Alexander, you too will have a son, and then you will know why.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iniquiticity asked for Alex being sick in Fig tree. Set during [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5944084/chapters/13666873/).

“Did I do it right, sir?” It hurt to speak, but Alexander had to try. Had to know if anything he’d done made a difference.

“Yes, Alex, love,” the colonel said, his hand resting on Alexander’s cheek–probably to check for fever. Alexander swallowed back a sob at the nickname, the wrongness of it–his real dad had called him _Alec_ , and to Maman he’d always been _Alexandre, cheri_ –but at least the colonel wasn’t mad at him. “You were very brave.”

“Yes,” agreed Alexander, because he had been, he knew that, no one could accuse Alexander Hamilton of being a coward, not ever. “But did I do it right? Did we save them?”

“Yes, dearest heart,” said the colonel, and if Alex didn’t know better he would say the man was crying. But George Washington was far too brave for that. “They’re all safe, and I’m so proud of you.”

That made him feel better, somehow. Ever since he’d met the man he’d wanted Colonel Washington to think well of him. He hoped when his real dad came back and got him, he wouldn’t be too upset about that. It was only natural to want the approval of such a man, wasn’t it? “That’s–that’s good.”

“You get some rest now, son. I’ve got you, I’ll take care of everything.”

There was some reason, Alexander was sure, why that was a bad idea, but something about the certainty in the man’s voice made his eyes close despite himself.

When he opened them again Maman was there, holding him just as she’d done when they’d both been sick, and she was the most beautiful thing Alexander had ever seen.

“My baby,” she said with a smile–her smile, the one that always meant fun, and kindness, and a thousand secrets she might just tell you one day, if you played the game right. “My Alexander. Look at you.”

“I’m sorry!” he gasped, the pain in his lungs making it hard to squeeze the words out. “I should never have gone with him, I should have stayed with you…”

“No,” she said. “What did I tell you, before I died?”

She had said something, but Alexander couldn’t remember. “I…”

For some reason she smiled wider, then. “You’ll remember. You always do, my brilliant boy. I’ll see you on the other side.”

 _No_ , thought Alexander, but it was too late, Colonel Washington was grasping at his hand and leading him up the ramp of the ship, away from her, and Mr. Arnold stood at his other side, and he tried to tell them it wasn’t safe, but no one would listen to him.

 _Wave,_ the men said. _Wave goodbye to your mom,_ _you don’t want her to think you won’t miss her, do you, young Master Washington?_

 _That’s not my name_ , thought Alexander, and then flames were all around them.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompted:For Fig Tree verse, Alex defending George/getting into a fight when someone speaks ill of him? 
> 
> Contains major spoilers for [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5944084/chapters/13666873/), but not much else.

“…such a shame, really, that he would go to such lengths for a child that’s probably already dead.”

Alexander had been wiping tables, minding his place. The tavern keeper would not appreciate cheek from the boy he’d been kind enough to give a few nights’ lodging; he’d made that much clear already. But something in the man’s voice drew him, made his ears perk up.

“Would you not do the same, if you lost your boy in a shipwreck?” said another man’s voice, softer.

“Sure,” said the first man. “But I know my boy’s mine, not some foreigner’s get.”

“Excuse me,” said Alexander, “but to what vessel are you referring?”

The first man seemed surprised to be addressed. “Oh, that mess with the _Necessity_ a few weeks back. Apparently some Virginian military sort was traveling with this boy he claims is his son, and they got separated and now he’s published this plea to return the boy, it’s all very sad, I feel sorry for his wife.”

_He’s alive!_ In the weeks since he’d washed up ashore with the surviving remnants of the crew, Alexander had gradually lost all hope. He wouldn’t blame Colonel Washington for never wanting to see him again, after the way he had behaved to get them separated in the first place.

“Unhinged, if you ask me,” the first man continued. “Honestly, if I were that boy I’d run and never look back. Maybe that’s what the kid did, come to think of it; I know I wouldn’t want anyone writing things like that about my mother, bastard or no. Maybe the man hurt him.”

_“_ I do not know what you think you are doing, casting aspersions on a respectable gentleman like that, but I don’t like it,” Alexander said before he could stop himself. “Colonel Washington would never hurt a child, and he would never publish slander.”

_“_ Watch your tone, boy,” said the first man. “What would you know about such affairs? And besides, you should see this pamphlet, clearly the man’s not all there.”

_“_ Jack, come on,” said his friend. “He’s a kid, leave him alone _.”_

Alexander did not wish to be left alone. “To cast aspersions on the character of a man who has just suffered a shock and a tragedy, sir…”

A few more words were exchanged, mostly on Alexander’s end, and it culminated in Alexander being thrown bodily out of the tavern. He’d managed to throw an ale in Jack’s face, though, so that was all to the good.

“All right there, kid?” It was Jack’s companion who pulled him up from the pile of leaves where he’d fallen.

“Yessir,” said Alexander. “Thank you. I’ll be off in just a moment.” Just as soon as he figured out what to do net. God forgive him, but he was so tired…

“I brought you a copy of it,” the man said. “It looked like it might be of interest to you.”

“It’s not,” Alexander lied. “I just don’t like it when people say horrible things about people who don’t deserve it.”

“Boy, you knew who wrote it before anyone said anything.” The man passed him a copy of the newspaper. “Go on home to your dad, kid. He loves you.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azulaludgate asked for Burr and Theodosia, pre-marriage.

“Tell me, my love,” said Theo, smugly. “When I am your wife, must I still write to you every day?”

Aaron, predictably, smiled. “Is it my Theodosia’s wish to do so?”

Theo scoffed. “You didn’t seem to care overmuch whether it was my wish or no, when you made such demands of me.”

“You weren’t mine, then,” Aaron explained. “I had to find some stratagem to hold your interest.”

“Oh, my interest you had, Mister Burr, then and ever. And tomorrow you will have claim on all my words, and everything else of mine besides. Tell me, how will you make use of me?”

Aaron’s eyes kindled at that–oh yes, she knew him, her smiling man with the hidden depth, knew him as no one else ever would. “Do you–do you wish to write to me every day?”

“No,” she said. “Tell me what you want. Everything you want.”

She saw his mouth open, saw him try to form the words, but no sound came out. At that moment Theodosia knew she would spend the rest of her life teaching him how to want, how to say it. She couldn’t wait.

And now they didn’t have to. Laughing, she pulled her Aaron down into a kiss, claiming his mouth the way she’d claimed the rest of him long ago. One more night would make no difference.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked for more of my modern spin on 'under their own vine and fig tree.'

Anyone who’s ever done crisis communications (by any of its thousand names; Greene prefers shit-shoveling as it’s honest, succinct, and descriptive, three things he tries to be) will tell you storms break under the following conditions:

-when no one’s around

-when you can least afford them

-from somewhere you didn’t expect

In other words, you get blindsided on the Saturday afternoon of a long weekend when half your staff are gone and the newsrooms are down to terrified 20-year-old interns, and it’s your own people who fuck you over.

Greene’s not new at this, is the thing. He should have known better. But he didn’t think anything of it when Washington sent him an email on Thursday: need to get away for the weekend. Off to the Caribbean; DO NOT CONTACT ME UNLESS THERE’S AN EMERGENCY GW.

Okay, so it was highly out of character for Washington to jet off God knew where the long weekend before an important vote. As in, it never happened. But Washington had been stressed. Tense. Greene approved, really—the man needed to take better care of himself.

So really Greene has no one to blame but himself when by Monday, his boss, one of the most well-respected men in Congress, is embroiled in a twelve-year-old sex scandal. It’s his own damn fault for not accounting for the threat from within. Maybe he should resign. Give his job to one of their own crop of terrified 20-year-olds.

One of them is speaking up right now—Jefferson, that’s the one, doing his Master’s at Georgetown in something unbearably pretentious, impressive resume and even more impressive family, both too smart for his own good and not nearly as smart as he thinks he is. Pain in the ass kid, Greene thinks. “We can still deny everything, right? The boy might not be—“

Representative Washington holds up a hand and the room falls silent. “My son’s name,” he says with flat finality, “is Alexander.” It’s the first time he has spoken since Greene hauled him into the office.

Greene thinks he can feel the ulcer forming in his stomach. “Jefferson,” he says. “take a walk. You know what, all of you can take a walk, I need a minute alone with the Congressman—Jefferson, bring us coffee, we’re gonna need it, no one’s sleeping for a while.” Greene would have preferred vodka, but the last thing they needed was that picture, after all the others.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for more of the modern fig tree au; I responded with Alex Washington's journalism school apps.

The thing is, Alexander knows his chosen profession could be seen as kinda weird. Son of a politician, object of scandal before he turned twelve, by rights he should hate the press. Why would he want to be part of it?

There’s even thinkpieces written on this very subject, which Patsy takes vicious glee in sending to him. Consensus is that he either thinks he could do a better job than the rest of the press, or he wants to stick it to Dad because, well, who wouldn’t?

They’re not wrong, Alexander knows, but there’s more to it. The first and most simple reason is, he’s good at it. He can write about pretty much any subject quickly and well. Sure, it’s an oversaturated market, but it’s oversaturated with idiots who know nothing about either economic policy or politics and have no interest in learning. Alexander figures he’ll do fine. There’s always a market for competence.

And he kind of likes that it’s not practical, that he doesn’t have to do it just to survive. He did enough surviving when he was a little kid, thank you very much. Time to write to live.

Alexander has always liked journalists, despite the rest of his family’s distaste for them. Journalists are the ones who explained America to him, back when it was a faraway land he had never seen. In away, journalists had even introduced him to his father, when neither of them had known and Congressman Washington was nothing more than a celebrity politician with a penchant for going viral. After everything, journalists dug up the old photos of his mother, young and beautiful and healthy, and let Alexander tell the story of when his parents had loved each other once. In a way, he owes his life story to the press. Perhaps even his life…who knew whether Dad would ever have bothered to go looking for him, if the press hadn’t?

But if he had to pick one moment that guided him toward his future profession, it would the moment he stepped off the plane in America, after his father had won custody and brought him home for good. The press had been waiting for them, and the flash of the camera lights caught him off guard. He remembers the way his father’s back had stiffened in what he would come to recognize later as fury, how he had stepped in front of Alexander as though he wanted to hide him from view, like he was something to be ashamed of.

“Overjoyed,” he’d said stiffly, and, “As well as can be expected, under such difficult circumstances,” and, “My family asks for privacy during this period of adjustment.”

One of the reporters had asked Alexander how he was feeling, which he thought was nice—no one had bothered to ask that for a long time.

“My son is not taking questions,” Washington said, with such force the reporter took a full step back.

Then Washington and Alexander looked at each other and shared an unspoken moment of calculation. How did they want to walk out? Too close and it would look staged, too far away and it would ruin the happy family story Washington seemed to care so much about, which was the last thing Alexander wanted so soon. Eventually Alexander let him put a hand on his shoulder, and prayed it would be enough.

There was one candid photo, though, that the papers eventually ran with—the moment of realization. In it they both look fucking terrified.

Alexander thought it would be a good thing, to be someone who could document the truth like that.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aleksrothis asked: In two and a half pirates AU, at what point does George's opinion of Benedict change?

There’s no denying Arnold’s utility, of course. George knows he’d be dead without him, a thousand times over, and worse, Alexander would be dead too. He’s competent and ruthless, a good teacher and partner in this mess. And he has standards, which George appreciates. None of their crew are brigands. They do only what is necessary to survive and succeed. Arnold and he agree on that.

The problem is that he knows it. Knows it, and requires George to say so, over and over again. He’s vain and arrogant, a needy, peevish sort of person, and his constant courting of praise drives George mad. It’s going to get them killed one of these days, George just knows it. Ambition is all well and good, but Arnold has no sense of how to play a long game.

Not that George thinks he should. Eventually he and his son will go home, after all, and then however Arnold chooses to waste his life will be no concern of theirs. There’s no attachment between them but expediency, after all. He and Arnold agree on that too.

When George takes him to bed, it’s more of the same–they are men, they have needs, and an understanding of how to provide those needs for each other. There’s no tenderness about it, the way there had been with Rachel or with Martha. Just mutual fulfillment.

Though George has to admit, he enjoys the way Benedict softens at the end, when George kisses him and tells him he’s been so very good. He would like to see that look on Benedict’s face more often, would try to make that happen, if it weren’t an undeniable although supremely pleasurable distraction from the work at hand.

He hasn’t seen either Benedict or Alexander at all that day, so he looks for them. Arnold gets Alexander into entirely too much mischief, but for reasons George has never been able to figure out, the boy adores him. He finds them not on deck, but in Alexander’s cabin, where they’re gazing intently at maps rolled out on Alexander’s desk, a stately ornate thing Arnold had pilfered for him on a raid.

“And which direction do you think we should sail next?” Arnold was saying.

Alexander’s finger points unerringly. “North, obviously. That’s the easiest course.”

“Right,” Arnold says. “Hey, you’re a really good navigator, you know that?”

“Uh-huh,” says Alex, but George sees his cheeks flush. An unfortunate part of his paternal inheritance, that.

“I’m serious, kid. Don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Do you really think that, Ben?”

“Course. You’re indispensable, kid.” Benedict smiles down at the boy, completely oblivious to George’s presence. It’s an expression George has never seen before…joyous, he would almost say.

Alexander grins back.

George thinks, Oh, fuck.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ossapher prompted: Fig Tree Patsy teaches Alex something.

At first Martha thinks nothing of the sounds coming from Patsy’s spinet…she’s been feeling better lately and it’s good to hear her return to regular practice. That the melody is a little more tremulous, more uncertain than usual, doesn’t give her cause for concern.

Then she hears a shriek, and a discordant note from the piano, and hurriedly discards her embroidery to run to the practice room.

Where Patsy is sitting upright, her hands still on the keys, Alexander sitting next to her on the piano bench.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she’s saying. “It doesn’t GO like that, Alex, I keep TELLING you.”

“I KNOW it doesn’t, Patsy, but I thought it sounded good, don’t you think?”

“If we’re going to play a duet, you can’t keep changing the line and not telling me.” She places her hand over the boy’s, moves it onto the keys. “Here. The melody goes like this, you play the C here, and then I can…”

“I still like the way mine sounded better,” Alexander pouts, but he moves his fingers the way Patsy tells him to.

“You may write me a piece next time,” she says, imperious as a young queen. “If you wish.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for an Aegisverse spinoff in which Alexander knows he's Washington's son, but Washington does not.

Alexander thought he’d be smarter.

He immediately hates himself for thinking it, but it’s true. He didn’t know what to expect when he met the General, tried not to have too many expectations or hopes, as experience had taught him that was a good way to be disappointed. But he’d thought…that maybe the General could be an equal. Someone who could understand what it was like when the thoughts and words came too fast, when he had more ideas in a minute than he could ever act on in a lifetime.

Instead the General’s…well, slow. Not a simpleton by any means, but it’s torment to sit with him in staff meetings as he ponderously goes over every option, every contingency.

 _We don’t have time for this_ , Alexander thinks. _I do not care which decision you make, sir, but for the sake of us all, make one!_

Indeed, if there’s a man less similar to himself in all the world, Alexander does not know where to find him.

He wonders sometimes if his mother made a mistake. If it wasn’t Washington who sired him. In build they’re not alike at all–pity, that, Alexander could have used a few more inches of height, a few more pounds of muscle. It was the least Washington could have bequeathed to him, since he’s not going to give him anything else. No name, no influence. No command.

Alexander wonders sometimes what would happen if he told the General everything. Would he take Alexander to his bosom, and weep, and feel guilt? Would he cast Alexander aside in anger? Would he give him the command he desired so?

But no. It would probably pain the General, but eventually he would come to the same conclusion Alexander had reached long ago–that there was no place for a bastard son of his in this army, that it would destabilize his own control even further, which they desperately didn’t need.

In the meantime, Alexander would earn the glory he wanted himself. He didn’t need Washington for that. He didn’t need him for anything, and with that realization there was no purpose to speaking the truth, not even to Washington’s ears alone.

_Nobody needs to know._


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompted: I don’t believe each person has just one true love, but sometimes we don’t have enough time to find another. (That’s the way it crumbles, cookie-wise.)
> 
> For Alex/Angelica

Eliza will wonder for the rest of her life what would have happened if she’d waited just a moment longer. If she’d looked away.

It’s not like she didn’t stake her claim. “This one’s mine,” she’d said as soon as she first saw Hamilton’s face, because she knew her sister. Angelica laughed, in the way she did when she was deadly serious but didn’t want anyone to know, and went to find him.

Eliza’s heart was in her throat as she watched them flirt and dance, the way they looked at each other. I have lost him, she thought, and then Angelica steered Hamilton toward where Eliza waited.

Eliza, frozen, locked eyes with her sister…

And stepped back, into the shadows, using Miss Lott as her shield.

She knew Angelica. Knew what Angelica would be giving up, by leading Hamilton to her. Knew Angelica would do it anyway, for love of her.

And she knew herself. She could find love again, she knew. There was more than one young officer with pretty eyes. She could find someone who would be enough.

She’d never seen Angelica look at a man the way she looked at Hamilton. Always dazzling, in his presence her sister glowed, like the sun Eliza had always believed her to be. Angelica could never be satisfied with anything less than that.

Eliza loves her sister more than anything. She will not be the one to dim that light.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this one will require a bit of explanation. It's a crossover between my Fig tree-verse and [shapechangersinwinter](shapechangersinwinter.tumblr.com)'s wonderful [manticore au](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9794987/chapters/21996080/).
> 
> In which manticore Alexander Washington and sphinx Patsy Custis receive glamour spells to make them appear human.

Patsy stumbles again when she sees him, insofar as she can call what these weak human eyes do seeing. He looks…wrong. His face…yes, she can see Alex a little in that face, but the proportions are strange and he’s squinting, as blind as she. As lost as she is. He had always been so certain, before…she doesn’t like how he walks in this body, all loud and without grace.

“Hey,” he says…and there, the world rights itself again, for his smile’s the same, half-wild, showing something of the predator he’ll be. “You okay? Haven’t got this bipedal thing figured out yet myself.”

“Yeah,” she says, pulling back her hair…such an odd thing, hair, too wiry to be a proper mane. “Yeah, just getting used to it.”

“But how are you feeling?” he asks with an expression she thinks is hopeful.

That was, of course, why she was being subjected to this along with Alexander. Sphinxes didn’t normally wear glamours. Why would any rational creature trade flight for…this? But the spellworkers and doctors said it might help her fits, and Patsy wasn’t permitted flight anyway…too dangerous, Mother said, for she might fall from the sky at any moment. Alexander’s tutor had told her, once, about Icarus, the manticore who had challenged the gods and built himself wings. Patsy thought she took away something she wasn’t supposed to from the lesson–she thought it might be worth it to fall, if only she could touch the sun first.

But for now she doesn’t have the heart to tell Alex about the headaches, the fatigue. Alex would roar and storm and complain to Papa, which would accomplish nothing but make everyone unhappy, including her, who would have to listen to both Alex and Papa afterward.

“No fits yet,” she says with a game smile. She tries not to show her teeth–do humans see that as a threat? She doesn’t remember.

“That’s great!” he enthuses, taking a few shaky steps toward her. If they were in their real bodies, she knows this is when he would groom her, and perhaps nuzzle her if she permitted it, giving comfort with his body the way he can’t with his torrents of words.

But she knows that would be wrong, in this body, so they stare at each other dumbly, hardly seeing at all.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked what Martha would do if George died at sea in Fig tree. Because I enjoy pain, I obliged them.

Her first thought was, _This cannot be George’s son._

Alexander was too small, for one thing–he seemed frail, all thin bony shoulders and wrists. He looked more like her daughter than like her husband. There was even something girlishly delicate about his features, nothing at all like George’s broad, craggy face.

They had been tricked. George had been tricked, and died at sea for nothing, for some harlot’s spawn, and now her own children would be fatherless again.

Then he bowed to her, painfully stiff and formal, as though she were an etiquette teacher and he was looking for correction of his manners.

 _Ah, my love,_ she thought. _There you are._

“Madam,” he said. He did not offer condolences, for which Martha was grateful–she thought she might have lost her composure right there in the harbor, and nobody wanted that, not her or the boy or whatever might remain of George’s spirit.

“Let’s get you home,” she said. There was nothing else to say.

*

Patsy loathed him on sight.

It wasn’t that Martha couldn’t understand why. She’d been the center of her papa’s world, the focal point of the estate, their beloved princess. Now her father was gone and her mother lost to mourning and taking care of this stranger, whom she probably blamed for George’s death in the first place. Martha could have compassion for those feelings–in her darker moments she shared them. But at best Patsy treated Alexander with disdain, at worst with outright cruelty, and that Martha could not excuse.

The last straw was when she overheard her taunt him in the garden one day. _Bastard son of a whore,_ she screeched, and all of a sudden Martha couldn’t take it anymore, she stormed into the garden not mindful of her gown or slippers.

“Alexander, dear, go inside, please,” she said,

“Madam,” he said, “forgive me, but I think you took what Miss Custis was saying out of context, which, if you will allow me to explain…”

“Alexander. In. Now.”

Her seasoned veteran of a husband had wilted before that tone of voice; young Alexander Washington stood no chance against it. “Yes’m,” he said, and scurried away like one of the house slaves caught lazing at their work.

Martha was left to stare in fury at her only daughter, who had the nerve to try and defend herself. “Mama,” she said, “he was…”

“I do not care,” Martha said. “I do not intend ever to hear language like that from my daughter, or more to the point, such cruelty, again. Do you understand me, Martha Parke Custis?”

Patsy’s lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears, which was usually enough to get any member of the family to stop and comfort her. “He’s–”

Martha would have liked to say her arm moved without her own volition, but shamefully, that was not true. She meant to strike Patsy, and hard. And meant to say the words that came out of her mouth, every bit as cruel as what Patsy had said to Alexander. “Amend your behavior at once. Your father–both of them–would be ashamed of you. I am ashamed of you.”

Patsy, who was never usually disciplined at all, stared at her in utter shock. “He’s taking everything!” she cried. “It’s not fair.”

“I see I have done you a disservice, if you expect the world to be fair,” Martha said. “I’ve lost two husbands and two children now. Do you think life has been fair to me? Do you? Or to that boy, for that matter? When you come to your senses ask him if life is fair, you’ll learn a lot about the world…”

She was raving, almost shouting now, could not seem to make herself stop. “It’s past time for you to grow up…”

Patsy gave a strangled sob and ran for the house. Martha wanted to run after her, apologize for the harshness of her worlds, but she could not. They were true and she’d meant every one of them.

 _What has become of me?_ she wondered. She’d always considered herself a good person, a good wife and mother, but now she thought George must have been her goodness, and without him she was turning into a vile, selfish creature.

She wondered if he would hate her, now.

*

“I could leave,” Alexander said one day, out of nowhere.

“Your father wanted you to stay here, dear,” Martha said.

“But do you, Mrs. Washington?”

Oh, he was canny. Cannier than George had ever been, in some ways, but utterly foolish too. “I won’t deny that, in some ways, it would be easier on me if you were not here,” she said, because she had always given her husband honesty and his son was the sort who would demand the same. “But easier does not mean better, Alexander. You are..you are all I have left of him. I cannot give that up.”

He nodded, seeming to accept that. “You should know something, before you agree to my staying here. I feel that I have been accepting your hospitality under false pretenses, ma’am. For you see, I did not love him.”

He said it like it was a terrible confession, and Martha could not help but laugh. “How could you have, Alexander, you barely knew him.”

“Nonetheless, he said he considered me his son, and I always felt I should have reciprocated further and now…”

“I did not love him either, when we were first married,” Martha said. “It was…a mutually beneficial arrangement. He’s a hard man to come to love, Alexander. The deficiency, if it was there, was not in you.”

“Really?” he asked. “Do not mistake me, Mrs. Washington, I admired your husband very deeply…”

“Mmmm,” Martha said. “He is easy to admire, and hard to love. But when you did come to love him, it came upon you all at once, as though you had from the beginning."

This was not, perhaps, a conversation she should be having with a little boy, but Alexander’s shoulders relaxed for the first time since she had met him.

“I think…I think it was coming upon me, ma’am. When he got sick.”

“Then I am grateful,” Martha said, “that someone who loved him was near as he died.”


End file.
